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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984005">No Bad Dogs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearWasteMessage/pseuds/NuclearWasteMessage'>NuclearWasteMessage</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword &amp; Shield | Pokemon Sword &amp; Shield Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post Canon, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, big maybe on the MCD, if you’re looking for something where rose is an asshole this is not the fic for you, man it’s a lot but it get’s better i swear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearWasteMessage/pseuds/NuclearWasteMessage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Rose Has It’s Thorn. (I want an aesthetic summary but everything is in the notes in the first chap and tags.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chairman Rose/Protag (OC)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Bad Dogs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh sweet god this is a big project I’ve wanted to do every since I’ve finished SwSh. It’s a big post canon story with minor divergences in the plot that I’ll get around to explaining. This was originally going to be a X Reader but I can’t write those well so I inserted my own version of the SWSH protag. One of the biggest divergences is that the main story started when Hop and protag were like 20. There will be a lot of ships when I get around to it. Ok that’s enough rambling I’ll talk more next chap.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Kore’s whole fucking body hurt. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">If it wasn’t insisted by the doctors who saw the trainer as a moocher at this point Kore would’ve still been in that hospital bed. Outside of hurting like hell that room was the one place he could feel safe. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There was no cameras, no intrusive questions, no news reporters pushing to ask what the great champion of the Galar region had in store next.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘Champion.’</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> He sure didn’t feel like one. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">From what little he remembered from that night, the “darkest day,” none of it was actions of a worthy champion. It was actions of a frightened child, something that had never left him. He hadn’t talked to anyone that had shared that unlucky night with him during the two month hospitalization. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Bede, who had threw a gamble with their battle during the finals, was the last person he wanted to talk to. Even if their rivalry was put to rest with the deciding battle he had no intentions of becoming buddy buddy with someone he considered a brat. Raihan had attempted to ring in his room a couple times, undoubtedly confused and left in a tailspin. The one person he wanted to talk to, Hop, hadn’t even tried. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘Don’t be selfish.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘He’s worried about his brother.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Leon had been just as injured by Eternatus as Kore had. Hell, he would bet money that if the legendary wolves hadn’t took a stand with them they all three would’ve died up there. What a badass but needless way to go, he would laugh to himself later. Leon wasn’t as lucky as the upstart from Postwick. They were in the same ICU and every nurse on the wing knew exactly what had went down that night. From what little information he got from the day nurse the ex-champion hadn’t waken up yet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It seemed inconceivable to Kore at first. She must be lying or have him confused with another patient. Arceus knows the place was filled in wake of the dynamax incidents. The “unbeatable”- er, somewhat unbeatable- “champion” wouldn’t throw in the towel to some alien bitch, right? Right. He was right. Hop wasn’t calling because he was off somewhere celebrating saving the region with Leon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Yeah. That’s what was happening. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Kore’s apartment in Motostoke was cold when he entered. He would turn on his phone after he took a shower and everything would be fine. He’d give his stupid fucking title back to Leon because a singular battle didn’t mean he was champion material. He was a twenty one year old stray dog not some hotshot superstar. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The redhead shrugged off the scrubs he had yet to change out of. Or couldn’t change out of due to not calling anyone to drop off clothes. He had insisted on staying in the hospital long enough that the tubes from his wound had long since been removed. When Eternatus had let out the energy blast, that Leon’s charizard had so unsuccessfully tried to block, Kore had been sent flying. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Directly onto an metal rod that had been exposed from previous damage. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">From that point on the night was a haze. As he tried to not, well, die from the giant fucking rod in his side he could see glimpses of the battle before him. Zacian and Zamazenta probably didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">need</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> Hop’s help but Arceus knows the kid’s Pokémon fought like hell. He must’ve zonked out before the first responders had arrived. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">All that was left was a healing wound and a ton of gauze. Not the ideal situation before being dunked in water. Kore didn’t care. That was a feeling he found himself at a lot now. He just needed a burning hot shower that would scald all the guilt of being unable to stop whatever happened that night. Well, that and soap that wasn’t shitty baby shampoo. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Almost a second after he first stepped into the shower he was reminded of his pokemon. Arceus, he hadn’t thought of them once since that night. They were safe of course, they hadn’t even had a chance to be released before he was impaled. </span>
  <span class="s1">All that time cramped in their balls. </span>
  <span class="s2">Kore almost felt guilty. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">They were in the plastic bag along with the clothes he had been admitted in. Clothes that were bloody enough to the point they were beyond saving. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He’d release them then get his phone.</span>
  <span class="s1"><em> ‘You’re stalling now.’</em> </span>
  <span class="s2">How many people had unsuccessfully tried texting him? It’s not like the nurses would relay texts like they did calls. There was so many people he wanted to check up on but didn’t necessarily want to talk to. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘What champion doesn’t make sure everyone is safe.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He wanted to bash his head into the tile wall behind him. Maybe he could take a few more pain pills than prescribed, maybe that could shut down his head for just enough time. Not good showers thoughts. The trainer scrambled to finish up, no longer wanting the near skin melting embrace of the shower. That’s where he cried the most anyways. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Kore dried off and did the minimal care required for his wound. Knowing his incompetent ass it would get infected and the nurses would have to deal with him for another few months. He dragged himself to his closet that hadn’t been touched since he left. A two sizes too big hoodie with his league number, 818, on it was chosen. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He hadn’t even remembered when those had been made, maybe around his fifth gym badge? He sure was garnering attention at that point. They both were. To varying degrees of course, in almost everything Hop had been left behind. Including near death experiences and months long hospitalizations, so maybe being left out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing all the time. Arceus, Kore needed a drink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">His fridge was empty as he was always on the road and there was no way in hell he was going anywhere today. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘Ok, you can stop being a pussy now. Go get your bag.’ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The plastic sharpie covered bag on the couch was a modern day pandora’s box. Maybe it was the trauma talking but he really just wanted to go to bed and forget everything. He spent his whole life running from problems why stop now. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘No.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He rummaged for his pokeballs first. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Five worn ones and...a sixth. It definitely wasn’t his. The ones that kept his precious party members were weathered from being thrown so much, the one currently in his palm was shiny and brand new. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘That would be a mystery for another day.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">Kore shrugged it off, unwilling to put any effort into his discovery as he placed it back in the bag. At worst it was a mixup with the possessions handled by the hospital and it was someone else’s that he’d have to return later. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Kore sat on the cheap burgundy sofa as he picked out three pokeballs from the bunch. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">A white flash followed the button press of the first ball, the light taking the shape of a bipedal ‘mon. Lucario. The riolu he caught all the way back in Unova when he was twelve was now a mighty lucario dolled up with a dark red scarf. After Ferro was a persian and grimmsnarl.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The Kantonian persian, Cash, had been a gift from his absentee father after his first gym battle. Packaged so delicately in a bow wrapped gift box with the simple words of “congratulations.” While he had never seen his father and his letters had been sparse he seemingly always had an eye on his son. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s2">The grimmsnarl, Valak, was yet another gift from his father. One received at the much younger age of six. His first Pokémon and one who had always stayed by his side. Even when he was a much smaller impidimp growing up on the streets of Castelia City</span> <span class="s2">he was always fiercely protective of his trainer. </span></p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">His partners confusion had quickly changed to rejoice as they joined their trainer. The three were the closest of his party and the only real friends Kore considered outside of Hop. </span>
  <span class="s1"><em>‘Hop.’</em> </span>
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t think of his friend just now, he needed to make sure his pokemon were safe. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Valak let out a weak snarling sound at the scarred over cut on his trainer’s cheek and his seemingly swollen eyes. He hadn’t been crying but he hadn’t been sleeping either. Kore laced his fingers through the thick black hair on the medium sized monster’s head. His green ears twitched in approval, his attention no longer on the wound and instead on the affection he was receiving. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">As the Pokémon continued to soak up the praise Kore tried to divert his attention to his phone. The only thing left in the bag outside of the mystery pokeball and his dirty clothes. He tentatively reached out flipped on the smart phone, almost afraid that it would grow a set of teeth and bite his head off. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The battery was low yet it still booted up. A selfie of him and Hop when they first left Postwick for Turffield painted the backdrop of the lock screen. Even if it had been little over a year since they picture had been taken they looked so much younger, so much more innocent. They weren’t kids and yet it harbored the same feelings as looking at a picture of your ten year old self. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Kore was so caught up in the photo that was barely visible over the mile long list of notification boxes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ferro chirped and leaned over his master’s shoulder in an attempt to gain a glimpse of the screen. Lucarios could understand human speech and the redhead would swear that Ferro could read fluently too. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He shooed him off as gently as possible, scrolling up and down as he took in the alerts on his phone. Calls from Raihan. Texts from Hop. Calls from Sonia. A singular call from an unlisted number that he couldn’t recognize. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He tapped on Raihan’s notif first, hoping to get some closure on the situation with Leon and everything else. He would respond to one text and then pass out for another 48 hours until someone knocked on his door. Yeah. That was the plan. He wasn’t picky on who knocked, it just seemed to quiet in the apartment. Maybe he’d order pizza. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The password screen dissipated and Raihan’s contact replaced it. The last message sent before that night had been some obscure meme. Kore would have to laugh about that later. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">8:02PM : They’re not telling me shit what happened?? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">8:06PM : I know you’re not dead brother </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">8:10PM : Hop says that thing at the power plant messed you up bad. I’m being hounded here about what happened but I don’t know any more than they do</span>
  </em>
</p>
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